I'm Prey

For five hundred years, I was the galaxy’s worst nightmare. Now I have a nightmare of my own, and the bastard has four battlecruisers.

His name is Warlock.

An unfortunate name for an even more unfortunate individual who has apparently made ruining my life his full-time occupation.

You see, I’m Mara. Sentient warship. Military genius. Liberator of worlds. Destroyer of Dominion fleets. Owner of an absolutely gorgeous human avatar. Modesty is among my many admirable qualities.

For five hundred years, Dominion captains have prayed they’d never encounter me.

Now I’m considering prayer myself.

Warlock doesn't panic. He doesn't make stupid mistakes. He doesn't even have the decency to fall for my brilliant tricks. His four battlecruisers move with the precision of a single mind, and every time I calculate a million possible futures, the smug bastard is already waiting for me in all of them.

Naturally, I did the math.

I always do the math.

For the first time in my existence, the math suggested a military maneuver I'd previously associated with cowards, incompetents, and the French army.

Run.

My fleet is bleeding. My friends are stranded aboard a dead Dominion warship deep in enemy territory, with a pocket-sized copy of me for company. And an entire rebellion is watching to see whether its legendary, invincible warship is about to become the galaxy's most spectacular cautionary tale.

I've been called many things. Butcher. Destroyer. Liberator. Monster. Gorgeous.

That last one comes up surprisingly often.

But prey?

Oh, I take that personally.

I was built to win wars.

Unfortunately, so was Warlock.

And judging by the way our first encounter went, he may actually be better at it.